Rose
by Rjalker
Summary: First in the Someone Has To series. Rose watched in horror as the Doctor's hands slipped from the lever, as he was pulled toward the void, as he disappeared forever. Some people would look back and call that terrible day Doomsday. For Rose Tyler, it was the day she died.


The coat…she wasn't really sure why she put it on in the first place. Maybe to remind herself of him? His scent clung to the fabric, and made her feel like any moment now, and he would appear around the corner, smiling that silly grin of his, and her world would stop ending.

It was heavier than she first expected, and the sleeves were far too long. It didn't take much effort to roll them up, though, and the weight of it was comforting. Like his arms were wrapped around her in one last hug before he disappeared.

Learning to fly the TARDIS was difficult, and in the long coat that brushed her feet, she fell more than once in the mad scramble that dematerialization required. Flip a switch here, and then another across the entire console, and then again on the other side, in perfect timing, or it would all fall apart. If the gap between actions lasted more than a few seconds, you would have to start all over again, and after her tenth attempt to take off from the lonely valley the mourning time machine had taken them to after the battle at Torchwood, she was nearly in tears.

She remembered all the times the Doctor had asked her to flip a button, or lift a lever, as they took off or landed, and now, forced to try and work the ancient machine by herself, she was more lonely than she ever had been.

The TARDIS did its part in helping her along, as best it could. When she was at her most frustrated, and ready to give up, the humming that emanated from all around her would soften, turning into something that was almost like a lullaby. She would sit against one of the coral supports, the fabric of the too-big coat hanging off her shoulders like a blanket, and close her eyes.

She would hum along, sometimes, quietly, and their mourning would connect them.

And then, once she had calmed down again, she would start again, adamantly refusing to take the coat off, no matter how many times she tripped over the edges or caught the sleeve on something. She could train her feet to dodge the cape, and her hands to move with more awareness.

If she were going to survive, alone in the entire universe, she was going to have to adapt.

And that started with the coat.

Eventually, after what she thought might have been a week, she finally managed to initiate the dematerialization sequence.

But they had nowhere to go, and she hadn't yet learned how to choose a destination, so the machine reappeared where it had been before after a minute or two of fading from view.

It was a start, though, and it gave her hope.

At night, she would stumble wearily back to her room to sleep, and sometimes, she couldn't even bring herself to make the effort, and just curled up on the chair in the console room, or the library above.

After the first month, after she had finally learned how to _wear_ the coat, she realized that there was more to it than just a single piece of clothing. He had had an entire outfit that he wore everywhere, and everywhen.

With a deep breath, she'd gotten to her feet from where she had been resting with her back against the console, and headed up the winding stairs to the wardrobe.

The TARDIS followed her in the lights on the walls, turning them light blue for a moment as she passed them, before darting ahead a few steps, leading her higher, up past the floor, and the second, before finally stopping at the third.

Each floor was sorted by species compatibility, and was laid out like a wheel, with the spiral stairs in the middle, and branching out into different sizes and types against the walls, with aisles sorted by color in between.

Floor three was suited for Gallifreyan-type species, which included humans. The TARDIS bounced across a few lights around the room before finally settling on an area to her left, where it spun in a lazy circle on the wall, waiting for her to come over.

The TARDIS had found the section that held the clothes that matched her size, with those edging on the smaller on one side, and larger on the other. "Thanks." She whispered softly, wishing she had a better way to communicate with the machine. She had known almost since the beginning that the TARDIS was more than a ship, and they had shared more than one moment together, somehow managing to breath the barrier that separated them. Human, and TARDIS, so far apart, and yet close enough to touch, just for a second.

Her understanding of the messages the TARDIs sent her had improved after she allowed it to temporarily meld with her so that they could save him—the one thing they shared, despite all their difference, despite the vast gap that lay between them, it was their love for _him_ that connected them despite everything—but it was still missing the clear, undeniable comfort of verbal communication.

But it was easy to look past that, as she moved forward toward the countless clothes hanging from the ceiling or strewn across shelves. She could lose herself in the colors like a vibrant rainbow around her, and for a few hours, she did nothing but look through every shelf, box, and closet she could get her hands on.

She started with clothes from the Victorian age, remembering with quiet remorse the young woman who had saved them all.

But sad memories were hard to hold onto in the large room, and harder still when the TARDIS began to hum again, as though sensing the direction her thoughts had turned.

Rose laid one hand gently against the wall, and hummed quietly in reply, before moving onto the next era.

Hours passed, and still, she hadn't even scratched the surface of the clothes that resided in the corridor of her size. There were suits, and sundresses, and gowns, and pajamas. Bathing suits, shoes, jewelry, and hats.

It was the first time in over a month that she had done anything but try to successfully take off, and slowly, the tension and anxiety that had had her coiled tighter than a spring faded quietly away as her limbs began to relax.

She wasn't ready to face what had happened, though. Not yet. Not really. That would come later, once she was back on Earth.

The thought was strange. What was the point of going back? There was nothing there for her anymore. Her family was gone. She had no friends.

Earth would seem like a cage against the wings she had grown in her travels, but it was, for the moment, her only plan, so she held it in her mind, and allowed it to take shelter just beneath her thoughts.

After countless hours, she finally settled on a single outfit. It was simple, and comfortable, and at the moment, that was all she wanted. The distant pasts and futures had tempted her at first, but she had eventually found her way back to clothes that fit her time, the silky smooth fabrics of the future too slippery, the cloth of the past too rough against her skin.

The coat was warm, and though the arms were wide enough for her to wear long-sleeves, the heat would be stifling. It was a relief to finally shed the blue jacket she'd worn for so long. The TARDIS' air filters kept clothes fresh no matter how long you wore them, and it had become like a second skin to her, protection against the grief that hung at the edge of her awareness.

It held the last few moments of her happiness, and the effort it took to pull down the zipper made it seem like it weighed as much as the Earth itself.

But then the cool air of the TARDIS washed over her bared arms, sending goosebumps racing down her skin, and she knew she had made the right decision.

She paused, automatically, before removing the black shirt she'd worn beneath it, but realized within the same moment that she was alone but for the TARDIS, and there was no reason to be shy.

The tank top—black, she'd chosen. Fitting. She was, after all, in mourning—fit easily over her body, the fabric neither too heavy nor light, perfect for wearing beneath the long brown coat.

Her arms freer than they had been in weeks, it was easy to tie the scarf she'd found lightly around her neck. The blue had caught her eye, some shade in between sky and teal, and the thick white and black stripes that traded places along its length had decided it.

The fabric was gentle and soft against her throat, fending off the chill that wanted to run over her while her arms were still bereft of the warm sleeves of the coat.

She slid the thin silver ring she had found onto her finger—intricate lines spiraling around the band in abstract patterns, with bits of orange gem in between, like stained glass—and closed her hand gently around it, testing its weight and movement.

Like with the tank top, her hand had a full range of movement, and she felt lighter than she had been before, as though the weight on her finger had freed her from a greater heaviness she hadn't even realized she was burdened with.

She had chosen a simple pair of jeans to wear, unremarkable but for their light grey color, and had picked out a pair of black and white running shoes that fit so comfortably around her feet that she could have been barefooted.

Standing infront of the mirror that had been propped up against the wall as she put the heavy coat back on over her chilled arms, her reflection stared back at her, solemn, quiet, and altogether alien.

She didn't look like herself. But then again, she wasn't really sure who she was anymore. She wasn't Rose Tyler. There was no one that would even recognize that name. All connections to it had been broken by the void that lay like a dark river between the worlds.

She wasn't the Bad Wolf, not anymore. The golden glint in her eyes was just a shadow, nothing more. The wisdom and power had been returned to its rightful place, and it had killed the man she loved to do it.

The TARDIS hummed through the floor and into her feet and bones, whispering in her ear with a gentle breeze, _not your fault_, and she swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat, and wiped at her suddenly itching eyes.

She knew who she was. Or, rather, what she needed to be.

The man she loved was gone.

But the universe was still out there, in all its wonder and glory.

Clutching her arms to her chest as the fabric of the coat swamped around her limbs, she bowed her head as the tears that had been threatening finally began to fall.

Someone had to fulfill the promise that had been made.

Someone had to be the Doctor.

And it might as well be her.


End file.
